The Great Game
by SAINTIXE56
Summary: first episode 1 season 4, how I imagine it from TW tidbits. Trying to be as logical as a French woman can be. Enjoy, review, correct


THE SECRET WAR

In every end, there is a beginning.

Chapter 1 : We shall move U

Quite simply, the answer to their problem was found. Just before leaving for the facility where Kemp had been planning all along the slaughter of the werewolves, Mitchell had advised to leave the cities. So good-bye to Cardiff, bye-bye Barry Island. Cornwall, here we come. George parents had found the quintessential English village, better than a Midsomer murder post card. In less time than humanly possible, they had packed the car and Tom McNair van with all they could transport; emptying their bank accounts to the maximum authorized limits of their credit cards, and left.

When Wyndham minions came back, the house was empty, a lone envelop full of cash was waiting the estate agent. Bad enough to have housed the Box Tunnel 20 suspect, the poor house owner would not be another innocent victim of the secret war. The vampires had torn apart the package, yet aside the banknotes, there was no indication where the 3 dogs were going to regroup. Gone also was the ghost, who at this very instant was sitting by her late friend suitcase. When George had decided in less than one second that the only way out was Out! Nina had rushed upstairs to collect what could be packed in the time slot to say :"we are leaving now". They all ran outside to find Annie sitting in the van with Mitchell last belongings. Non one had had the heart to point out that the wolf youth was smaller than the vampire and George was stockier.

They drove in the night like they had been hunted by Hell's demons; and they were. The Old One promises were not idle; he had really meant the crucifixion. That and the tsunami of new ghosts, legions of them, more innocents caught in the Dawn of the Vampires.

If Ruth had been quite surprised to find her son and a very much pregnant Nina on her doorstep her husband had been delighted.

Quite right, George. This baby, I take it is our grand child, must be born near all his family, we have been apart too long; now Ruth, back to bed.

So it was how the Sands Senior had welcomed the news of their son first to be born child arrival. Tom parked the van, behind the caravan, under the trees. George left his best friend car in a ramshackle garage, and they all went to their different rooms.

Ruth had found the old house. It had not been lived in for years, for many years. The former owner, a very old maid has lived and died there, waiting for her dashing pilot to come back from a flight over Herr Hitler Germany. The young man and his crew had never made it back to Blighty alive. The sunny girl had dwindled into bitter senility becoming the village old tartar, until her carer had found her with a wistful smile on her face. Count on the old tabby to keep her odd ways even after death as there was not one soul in the village to remember her smiling ever. Her will was to this day giving a serious headache to the heir hunters. It was decided that for the time being and quite probably for the next 50, who knows 100 years, it was a good idea to put it on lease. Tenant for undisclosed duration had been the sale pitch for George parents eager to walk on the wild side.

Anyhow, the house was almost derelict, the solicitor had pointed out the numerous possible grievances, but the fifty-something couple had fallen under the spell of the Victorian garden and the Georgian mansion. This was a house where a family could live happily ever after. The arrival, any time now of the proud owner of little booties confirmed their opinion. A girl would love the attic, a boy would love to get lost in the maze, and regardless of pink or blue, the kid would shriek with delight in the cellars.

Cellars are important, son. I plan to finally start collecting those wine bottles I was rambling about when you were at Uni.

His parents having taken over the master bedroom, Nina had welcomed with delight milady's boudoir as the dim light from the hallway had shown the wainscotings. That was a real old house! Sadly the bathrooms were also quite antiquated, tomorrow they would see. Tonight, err make it whatever was left from the night, they would sleep. Nina having the slender single bed, George ended up on the long chair, the long creaky chair. Tom pulled out a camping sleeping bag and preferred his van company.

Just like the house had turned on the lights, the lights went out. Annie was the only person or ghost awake in the house. It felt strange. It felt strange, to see your prospective boyfriend-cum-vampire stake through his bleeding heart, welcoming Death like his intended, his beloved bride. Strange to have to pack in less words than needed to say pack. Stranger to realize that having some poltergeist powers were really useful when one plans moving. She simply had formulated the idea of packing. The next second, the teapot and Mitchell suitcase were standing in Tom's van. The urn has followed with the Art Deco wardrobe, and her armchair. More would have moved to Cornwall, until a very exasperated George asked her if she planned to include the fabled kitchen sink.

The house was friendly, much more friendly that the lost in time welsh B&B. Friendlier that the pink house Owen has chosen when she was alive. It is cheap, baby. Think of it as a property ladder. She had hated those stairs alive. How right had she been!

Friendly house, quiet house. Creaky house, haunted house? There was something odd, but despite a quick visit in each room, each corner, from the top of the attic to the lowest of the cellars, there was no ghost at all, or it would seem. That or they were shy.

George would take a dim view of his parents woken up by a ghostly apparition, so she toured the manor in a very silent way, thus learning that father and son snored in the same fashion; Nina with a hand over her very obvious bulge as protecting the un yet born even in her dreams, Ruth cuddled up against her husband. Tom sleep was heart breaking as the teenager was muttering Dad, Dad in his slumber. The pipes were creaky, that she could vouch for; the wooden parquet was doing its best impersonation of Boards got Talent, but ghosts no way. This was a ghost-free accommodation. OK, a newly-ghost-inclusive accommodation now.

Chapter 2

What Nina did next

No way said the beaming grandfather to be, followed by the classic You must be joking of her partner's mother, ending by the final Over my dead body of her own George. Tom had been not really unsympathetic to her plight almost winning her over, until he mentioned that she should be humoured in the last stage of her pregnancy. It is not good for you, Nina. You need to rest. Disgusted by the Sands and Mc Nair impersonation of fucking bloody overzealous midwives, she stormed to her room. Annie was rummaging into a three footed chest of drawers.

They really mean well, Nina. They are worried, all of them. Not for the same reasons, but they really all love you and have your best interests at heart. George is petrified, and I know my George. He loves you, you know…

I know, but they all drive me insane. Tom acts like the little protective brother I never had, my in-laws want the best for all the family and George is as terrified as me. If I don't find something to do, I will turn rabid.

George opened the door, gingerly, half-expecting to see a flying slipper.

You may die of starvation before that. We paid the rent, but we are not that rich. Mitchell had money, if we try to use his credit card, they will know where we are. I need to find work, in an un-official way. All cash and no question asked. Tom knows how to be employed in that shady way. We shall make do, until… until…

The words were hesitant. They all knew what he meant. The understandably angry Wyndham would be at this very instant checking money transfers, national insurance number activity, and all those legal tracks that Big Brother can follow to the source.

What you need now is a GP, a midwife who does not ask questions.

Yes, George. OK, George, as you want, George.

The words were dismissive. Her smile was not, she was tired and her life-threatening dramatic ride with the Barry paramedics made her long for a quiet maternity leave. She did not want to find work or else. She wanted to grow accustomed to the little thing growing inside of her. She would have sworn that Annie had stand by her in the A&E cubicle telling her whether to invest into pink or blue, those things we make up in a coma, a real drug induced amphetamines dream.

She wanted to speak to that child, she wanted quiet and love. Her time was nearing; she had to get the nest ready. Work would have to wait for Nurse Picketing convenience.

Tom and George took the car; Annie was busy cleaning the house. Her mother-in-law was going to be impressed when her husband and she came back from shopping at the local Spar. She was left to her own devices. Her own thoughts.

Deep inside her, she knew that her distrust of Mitchell was partly responsible of his death. He had done the decent thing, he was a decent man; how come she had not noticed this streak of decency in him ever at all. Nina dear, you have a problem with trust. George knew about the tip off; one day, when? Annie would know. Would she take kindly to the revelation? By the way, dear, I am responsible for your boyfriend staking. Shall we kiss and make up? Tom would want to know what was she thinking when she became Herrick lodger, when she put more faith in her killer than the friend who had saved George and her in the nutty religious compound. She thought Mitchell was poisonous. She could have voiced the accusation at her own reflection. He had saved Annie, Mc Nair, Adam, Sasha, Tom without ever letting them down; she might as well have held the stake herself. George, her George was her victim.

Inside her, as if answering to her anxious musings, the baby moved. She caressed her distended abdomen. The baby went quiet, asleep again in that blue rabbit land of unborn yet babies. She had seen that baby wall paper when she was … still 100% full human and she had loved its colours and scheme. Perfect for a baby, boy or girl alike.

Which means I need to buy some baby clothes. Now. Annie, I leave you the house, I will walk to the village. No I do not need your company, I am not an invalid. I do not mean I do not want you, simply I want to walk before George cossets me to death and I end up so fat I shall have a C-section.

Annie's face was acknowledging the potential obstetrical risk. She shook her head in agreement.

Take your mobile. Oh, no. You cannot. You all need a pay as you go sim-card, paid in cash. You better go to the shop and get those untraceable phone numbers quick.

Thus she left the house, raincoat partly open to her disgust. When she reached the village, about 1 mile or so from the manor, she was huffing and puffing like it was getting out of style. She had to sit and rest. This bench would be the very right thing. Across it, a brand new building was standing, On its well-mowed green the usual NHS sign was informing the thrilled population that since the past 6 months, the surgery of the Old Rectory was now transferred to the shiny premises. A smaller poster was advertising for a nurse post being immediately available for any one ready to bury her in that Miss Marplish typical village. Baby gave 2 taps as if to get his or her mother attention.

She certainly was welcoming the idea of finding a doctor with whom she would be able to share her concerns, rewrite, some of her human concerns. The werewolf ones would have to wait. And if it worked well, she could end up working there, who knows. That is, if she could convince her un-yet-informed prospective and clueless employer, that she was not to be declared to the department of work and pensions. But first thing first, she had to register.

Let's hope they have an open list policy, Nina dear.

Chapter 3

Man's best friend

The trick was simple. Push the door. Easy-peasy. Push. Extend your arm. Get the hand to the door handle. A small length arm. The dark dog was lazily spread in front of the door. Preventing her actively from getting across. It was not growling, but it was doing its very best not to move.

- Doggie, good doggie, please.

The dog was awake, looking at her with curiously unwavering blue eyes. Moving, not. It was …what sort of breed. It was large, for sure. Seasoned, some white fur starting to show by the whiskers. Likely intelligent... Some sort of big German shepherd. It was smelling …odd, foreign maybe. Whatever it was, it was not moving.

This was getting ridiculous. She was pregnant, she wanted to get in to see a doctor and that big stupid animal was stopping her from benefit for health care. If the beast persisted, she was going to have to push it. Would it nip her?

- Move, you silly bugger. Move. And let me go through with Mrs Lewisham wheel chair. Hi, can I help you?

The blond receptionist was pushing an old lady in her chair, waiting for the taxi to pick her up. The black dog moved albeit very reluctantly, letting the short expecting mother to get in the surgery. Nina could not help feeling that those blue eyes were following her inside. Slightly worried, she felt quite sure the dog was watching her with almost a human intent. As if it was saying: I know who you are.

- Do not worry. Dougal is a very good dog. He is our own bouncer. Growls at the DNAs, you know those patients who do not attend the appointments. But never at the post man despite the urban legend.

- He is quite …remarkable. What breed is it?

- Alsatian shepherd. Belongs to our GP.

A tall woman came to the reception desk after closing a door behind her.

- Lizzy, I am going to grab a sandwich at home and I swear to God, I will sign all the forms you want, once I have fed.

- Battie, I think this lady needs to see you.

Battie, had the woman been called Battie, as a bat in the attic? Well, she did not look like the proverbial loony aunt. In her fifties, a bit overweight, a pair of thick glasses on her nose, the female doctor was the epitome of rural expectations when it comes to fashion. Tweed was the word, that and sensible leather shoes. Plus the classic lone strand of pearls.

- Come on in. You look tired, dear. Liz, go fetch a cuppa… and the real thing for me. Triple expresso. I need my fix.

Had she said real thing? The door was wide open, she had now no choice but going in. Nothing out of the extraordinary. A typical GP office. Computer, screen, printer. Piles of medical newspapers. On the floor a plastic box was housing a zoo, Mister Pingu, a rainbow coloured ball and the usual paraphernalia used to calm down frightened young- very young patients. The walls were telling another story. Some papyri about Egyptian Gods or Goddesses, an Eye, looking through you, Mythical healers and Jackal- headed Gods. On the top shelf, 3 hippopotamus were sitting.

- They are here for Taouret, the Egyptian Goddess for parturition. When I was… studying obstetrics, I collected those. Felt somehow right to have them here. Taouret protected women for more than two thousand years. It certainly does not do any wrong to my patients to benefit from whatever help she can shower on them. That plus our new ultrasound machine and some very 21st century medicine! What more do we want?

The grin was contagious. After that, Nina wholeheartedly entered into the spirit of the consultation. Able to express all her anxieties, issues, and concerns she become a miniature volcano intent on pouring a lava flow of questions. Endless why, why this, why that and the occasional what, when, where, how.

And she smelled gorgeous. Undoubtedly a costly French perfume. Which reminded her of the dog smell. How odd was it or not odd really. A French dog belonging to a French GP, lost in Cornish remoteness.

- You are French, I take it. You have a Scottish colleague?

- No, we are a single-handed practice. My husband is a Scotsman. He is an gynae surgeon, working for Doctors without Borders somewhere in Africa. Not very practical for family life or finishing the kitchen cupboard, but a tower of strength when he turns up.

After the consultation, she completed the new patient form and left it on the doctor desk. The two women were totally dissimilar physically. Yet the young one, very short, blond, related to the sarcastic, no-nonsense, empathic other one. Both considered their work as a duty, a calling. On the way out, Battie called her dog.

Along it came. The big dog and the big woman, walking side by side, almost with the same step.

Chapter 4

Work in progress

From that day, Nina as far as she was concerned had found the place where she wanted her condition to be managed. The small surgery was providing the best care for George and his parents top-of-the-trees . It was looking good. If one forgot about the werewolf …

As the weeks went by, Bathilde Farquarhson as they finally got the spelling thing right, and Dougal the wolf dog stopped being a seven day wonder. In the evening, she would be seen walking to the woods, her faithful hound by her side, and every morning, the dog would get first out of the car rushing around it and barking like a welcome as she more slowly got out of her vintage Jaguar. The village tongues were wagging about a bitter divorce, yet Nina had seen on the lower bookshelf almost permanently under her very eyes an old photo shot. Battie as a much slimmer bride and a dark tall young man in full Scottish regalia were beaming at the photographer. As Nina was visiting the practice weekly if not daily as she was growing enormous, she knew that the couple love was enduring. Anyhow Battie`s love. She looked often at the old picture with a longing smile. She cared for that absent husband of hers. The soon to be mother was hoping that in 25 years time, she would still be able to look at George in the same way.

Tom and her boyfriend had found work in a scrape yard. Paid in cash. Working late hours, week-ends, hard working. Keeping themselves to themselves. The boss was delighted. The pair was quiet, never drunk. Beside while the younger one was busy learning how to service cars, the older one was helping with the book-keeping. At this rate, Mister Pengelly would soon be able to come only once a month to collect the money! Good boys! When they were not working the week-end, Tom would try and visit this birth place of his, but it seemed that whatever family he had had was long gone and untraceable. The Sands were playing parlour games; Ruth was trying a disgusted Nina how to knit baby coverlets while Nina was trying to convince her that being nimble with needles to stitch human skin does not mean one is good at jumper knitting.

When the time of the full moon came around, Tom locked himself in a smaller cellar, hurryingly emptying the port bottles stored in it.

- Your father is not going to like it, me reducing to a glassy mess his fine wine collection.

Annie made sure the big and the small room were safely locked. The padlock inside the exit door protected the Sands senior from being ripped apart. One never knew. George did not put it past him to have his father deciding in the middle of the night to have a look at his beloved Italian Grand Crus.

After all their worries about being found out by unsuspecting campers, it was nice to be safe, to feel safe and to feel "them" safe from him. Dad had not enjoyed that safety. Same was going for the couple. They were safe, in the family and they were keeping the family like George standing by her side, the male werewolf was very protective of his female.

George Sr and Ruth had slept the night through like babies, not bothered by the curious noise coming from the cellars. Annie, next morning opened up the doors. Tom came around first, all surprised by the change it makes when one has a roof, a real roof over one raging self as he was nursing a bruised head. The biggest change came from Nina. The previous night she had been huge, now she was clearly about 9 months pregnant. Pregnant and offended.

- You are waddling, dear. Like a duck. A swan, I mean a swan. A lovely swan, that is…

This time, the slipper did fly in George direction and did not miss him. Yet flying slipper or saucer aside, she had reached the end stage of her pregnancy. She had to visit again Battie and explain for the umpteenth time that really she must have got her dates wrong. If this French woman was ever to hire her, she better improved her math skills…

The dog rose as she walked in, sniffing her with a low growl. Not friendly, curious, and finally with that odd look of his, letting her go. Under the doctor's window, it started to bark. What was the brute thinking? Was it way smarter than supposed? Who knows? Dogs are not known to answer back.

Regardless of Lassie, she waddled into the doctor's room. Battie had been…crying. Bad day and the wedding photo was down. Bad, bad day. The green eyes were plainly flabbergasted.

- Nina, dear. You, you… are you sure of the dates? Because it is that or you just have swallowed a five storey high wedding cake.

The twinkle was back. What do you do when you feel that a friend needs all the support she needs? She accepted the implied accusation with a blush and joked about it.

- Err it is George, he makes me. He feels I need to feed the baby.

- Let me have a heart to heart discussion with that blubbering idiot. You are going to end up with a caesarean section, which can only be done in Town, Well not in our village. My husband could help, but he is stuck in Congo! Nina, dear child. You must keep this sweet tooth of yours under control. Otherwise how will I be able to help?

Ruth drove her back. In a subdued mood, she had planned an "unexpected home delivery".

Chapter 5

Midwife crisis

The arrival on the scene of nurses, surgeons and the whole bloody anaesthetist team was not going to happen. She could see it coming:

- Nina, we are delivering the baby!

- Oh my God, this baby is very hairy!

- With huge white fangs! AAAHHH!

(This being the horror movie version, the Marx Brothers version was funnier)

- Nina, what is that?

- That is a puppy. A cutie cub.

- Explains why the ultrasound showed a tail. Ah, ah, ah!

Annie was waiting for her. Really Nina was growing in front of everyone eyes. It seemed in a very weird way that after each full moon, her body was adding three months to her friend pregnancy. Mind you, this was going to be the fastest pregnancy ever. Poor Nina who looked anything but thrilled at this bonus.

While Nina had grown and grown, the ghost had been busy. They say activity is good for you when you nurse an aching heart. Her heart was achy still as much as when she was witnessed Mitchell disintegration; but the old house was much cleaner since her arrival.

She had even taken to gardening. Gardening, George! She had roamed the internet looking for nice nursery wallpapers presenting her discoveries to the parents. No, no dwarves, no unicorns, but bunny-kins, and balloons, pink, no blue, wait yellow, pastel green and clouds and ice-cream cones, and teddy-bears, but no cars, wait cars, Tom the Engine and Dinosaurs. Why not Barbie, no Barbie. What do you hold against Barbie? She had left them at loggerheads at this point.

But it had a benefit. Mr and Mrs Sands were thankful for the house cleaning. Windows were shiny washed, the carpets were vacuumed and the lopsided paintings were starting to look a lot less like Disney's haunted mansion. They might be startled to see that it seemed their daughter in law was sleep-walking and cleaning at the same time. But whatever she was doing, it was right.

A new full moon was coming. This time, all the werewolves knew what it meant for Nina. Smiling she was, worried sick to share her panic to her already panicking boy-friend. Tom meanwhile was busy in the woods digging a wide circular ring, and pouring cement in it. He too had noticed the black dog who was keeping his eyes on them. It finally dawned on George there was logic behind the spade activity.

- Werewolves cannot cross water, George. This way, you two can be together outside without the howling waking up your parents. Women have a tendency to scream when it happens from what I have been told.

- You think she will scream? She is a nurse, you know.

- They do… I think.

- We shall add the extra chicken.

- Two chickens, just to be safe

- And some blankets, a fire, some gauze dressings, scissors, antiseptic lotion.

Both boys are uttered in unison Oh my God. No werewolf was ever going to deliver a baby in the NHS way or any medical evidence-base way. Werewolves do not do hygiene and hand washing. Nor they do hot water and sterile gloves. At the end, it was decided that George, poor George would stay in the cellars with Tom. Men far from womenfolk, women stuff. Kids left in nursery to play while the women were in charge of the real business.

George waved goodbye to his parents who had decided out of the blue to visit the Lake District. Why the Lake district in this time of the year. To visit the Roman forts, son. In the fog, to get the feel of what a Roman legionnaire was feeling as

the fog was rising and marauding Picts made his life a misery, a real misery as the original Scots were not known for ending quickly the life of any enemy being unlucky enough to fall alive in their hands… the caravan disappeared in the falling light of November. All in all, George wondered if it would not have been better to meet a marauding Barbarian.

The two men retreated to the house after the tallest one had longingly held his small partner in his arms.

- Everything is going to be OK, Stop fretting please.

Don't worry George. I have the matches, and all what is needed. Nina has shown me the booklets on home delivery Dr Farquarhson gave her. She will be disappointed; one could almost believe she was looking for it.

Chapter 6

All it takes is training on the job

The two women heeded for the woods. After a few stops some related to the waddling, others the tiredness and as the sun seriously considered setting, some "change" spasms, they reached the island. The boys had done good work. Nina was sitting on a make shift sandy couch, surrounded by water. Like an overgrown nymph, Annie looking at her with a few open suitcases and medical bags.

- Great, now we are going to pretend I am your midwife and all is going to go to plan.

- Aarrrgh…

The spasms were more intense, the change was monstrous, and the distended belly was out of human proportions. The female werewolf was crying, and so was Annie unable to reach and help. Every attempt had seen Nina valiantly going as near as can be from the water and daring Annie to be at her side on the island. Annie Uggs were now drenched, but she was nowhere near Nina.

- You need help

- Told you, they are clueless.

Battie was here with a man. His accent unmistakably Scottish; even in the dodgy moonlight, he looked very much like an older version of the groom of the doctor's weeding picture. The most horrifying thing was not that they could actually see her, a ghost, but that they could see Nina totally enraged by the arrival of the couple and not to seem at all bothered.

- We are going to rely on your skills, young lady.

- I get the things ready; I have brought all what a baby needs when he or she is born. Don't look at me; I will not say what it is. I "PROMISED" Nina to keep this piece of information to myself and I will. Patient confidentiality, you know!

- Mind you, it is like in our young days

- You remember in Lebanon. Only you could access the terrified wretch.

- You see me…

- Yes, lass

- And you see her…

- Oui, Cherie

- And you two are not afraid.

The man snorted as his wife guffawed.

- When you reach our age, there is nothing much left to surprise us, dearie. Beside, we have our own little Hell, so we are sympathetic to your plight, aren't we, sweet cheek?

What sort of private joke was on going? By now, Nina had stopped raging and was curled up in a tight bowl of pain.

- You are going to deliver this baby.

- I am not a doctor

- Don't waste time; she needs you, she needs her friend.

On the island, the werewolf was clearly miserable, she was moaning softly and her body was shaking when the wave of contractions was coming. This time, she barely registered the ghost was at her side. The 2 friends exchanged glances, Annie wondered if finally she had recognized her. She knelt and dared to put her hand on the sweaty brow.

- Tell her to push, not in her throat but in her abdomen. Push downward, like a good girl.

- Push, push, now we take a deep breath and we push again.

Any director with that script would have won an Oscar in the dumbest horror movie scenario category. On one side, you had a wailing female werewolf helped by an ethereal frightened ghost, on the other side of that stupid water ring, you had a fifty-something couple chanting Push like a mantra. The man or rather Mr Farquarhson left the scene to come back with a baby cradle and started a fire.

- The bairn will need some warmth. Not as good as an neo-nate unit lamp, but we must not complain

- When you need something, just ask; we shall get it ready for you. Plus mope her brow. Now. Good

- And check her blood pressure. I have this borrowed from our vet. That is how you do it.

- I shall show you how to monitor the contractions.

Annie was following the orders, in whatever direction they came. In one night, she went from hapless Ghost to efficient if squishy health care plus vet assistant. Nina was somehow pushing. Most importantly she was allowing Annie to touch her, press her abdomen, and probe her.

Chapter 7

Nursery

- Now put on those gloves.

- But…

- No But, lass. You are in it, we are all in it. So bite the bullet. Because this wolf baby is coming, I can see it from here.

Nina was growling and shouting more and more in an unbearable maelstrom of pain. Lifting her rear leg, letting the horrified ghost to have a glimpse to an area she would not want to go anywhere near. Something fair and furry started to show.

- Push, girl, good girl, push.

- Oui, Oui, push, push.

The blond fur ball was more and more visible.

- Now, you need to hold the head.

- Look how I put my hands. Good and now, your finger inside, yes, check if there is no cord around the neck.

- Yes, push a bit more, Nina. It is almost there.

And there is what. A loudly unhappy and healthy cub, soft gold dawn like his mother. Wailing and expressing his surprise to leave a warm place to that cold wood. Annie put the little cub by his mother. The two looked at each other, bonding.

Who are you, you?

My sweet love, you are the most beautiful, the most wonderful thing that ever happened in my life, my sweet child.

Werewolves do not speak. Maternal love expresses itself through cuddles, licks, gentle purring. Yet all the boxes of human motherly love were ticked.

- Congratulations, Nina. It is a lusty boy.

- Felicitations, Annie. You are the best dead midwife I ever had.

The sun was slowly rising above the woods. Nina was now covered in blankets, while Sister Annie was rocking the baby. Battie was packing up all the medical appliances, the black dog carrying whatever bag he could hold by his teeth.

- You will have to walk to the car, you two. Just take your time. Baby will soon enough be singing for milk.

As the bewildered and beaming mother was walking helped by her GP through the bushes, carrying like the Holy Grail, her blond sleeping bundle, her cub, her healthy boy, Annie was pensive.

She had missed her chance. All that giving birth experience had passed her by. She had no child, not from Owen, not from her two previous boy-friends. As with Mitchell, they never even achieved in a physical way. She was barren and bereft of words. She was empty and it was hurting.

The black dog rubbed her leg. She was not alone, she had friends and the supernatural world was just starting to show her that there were people suffering just as much as her. Yet, that night, all of them had witnessed the most significant thing on Earth, the thing all humans wish they have, a loving mother, a loved child.

Mitchell, where are you when I need you.


End file.
